Page 45 of Ace

"So young," I say before throwing another cracker into my mouth.

"Twenty years isn't that big of a difference, is it? I mean, at a certain age, it just becomes a number, right?"

I don't know whether I should argue with her or distract her with something else. It sounds like she's trying to convince me that we might be compatible in a way other than this job I'm working, and I can't let my mind wander there at all. For one thing, it's not ethical with the position I'm in and, secondly, I get the feeling that Cora Preston has had a lifetime of disappointment. I don't want to be one more thing that she's going to regret, and that's how it would end up. There's no scenario where we end up together.

"I guess if the people were compatible and had the same goals in life, it's not a big deal," I say, praising myself internally for having such a diplomatic answer.

"What are you watching?" she asks, pointing to the paused screen. "Is that Daydreamer's Spa?"

"It is. I'm going through video footage from last night," I explain. "I usually watch it live, but I wasn't here last night."

She keeps her eyes on the screen, watching as I fast forward to the next person visible on the front porch.

"We do our best to run facial recognition, but the shot is so far away, we can't always figure out who it is. Like this guy," I say, watching a man I couldn't identify earlier exit the building. "We can't determine who he is."

"That's Randall Carver," she says around another cracker.

I find it adorable how she keeps talking with a mouthful, despite her lifting her hand to cover her mouth.

"He's a congressman's nephew."

I turn my gaze in her direction, not exactly surprised that she knows who he is, but that she could actually help with this case.

"Thanks," I tell her as I shoot off the name to Max. "How do you feel about helping me with all the people I can't identify?"

She shrugs. "It's not like I have anything else to do."

I hand her a folder with pictures from screenshots of the video and a pen. For the next half hour, we work in silence as we eat—me watching the video playback and her jotting down notes on people she can identify.

"So we're done?" she asks after she's done with the folder. I make my way through to the end of the video at about the same time. "There's more?" she asks, when she looks up at the scene and sees a car driving into view.

"This is live," I explain. "It's happening in real time."

She looks over her shoulder toward the window. "I missed the sun setting."

"This kind of work has a way of making time slip away."

"Perfect," she whispers, her eyes locked on the screen. "That's—wow, really?"

"Who is she?"

"Estelle Baringer. She's the wife of—"

"Vice President Scott Baringer," I finish for her.

"How deep does this place go?"

"I don't know. I don't know that we'll ever know, but it isn't surprising. There are all sorts of—Cora, you can't tell anyone what you see on these tapes."

"Won't it all come out in the wash when you shut the place down?"

I see the hope in her eyes. It's not that she wants any one of these politicians in trouble, but she sees this place for what it is, an illegal business and nothing more.

It's not how I view it or how Cerberus views it. We know the danger of places like this, but they also serve a purpose.

"I don't know that Daydreamer's Spa will be shut down."

Her head tilts, eyes narrowing, and I hold my hand up, feeling the need to explain before she judges me too harshly. Not that I should be worrying about her opinion of me on any level.

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